State Of Grace
by gosharoony
Summary: Two Monkees find an unexpected surprise on their doorstep that turns their lives upside down, for better or for worse. (Strong language and grown men acting like idiots. You've been warned.)
1. une

First off, I have never posted Monkees fanfic on which is super weird! But we are going to roll with this anyways. Moving on, I wrote this about two weeks ago and posted on my Livejournal, but I decided to come post it here too because, well, it can't hurt, right? I might just start posting it on here instead of posting on both, but this is a slight experiment for the time being. Regardless, enjoy the story my friends! I apologize for it being a bit rough, but I wrote this a four AM so that's...a thing.

* * *

"Hey, uh...Micky?"

Davy looked over at the male, expecting some kind of response...but then again, maybe he was expecting too much. Micky was engrossed in some television special that he'd heard about and frankly, Davy didn't understand what was such a big deal about it. "It's gonna be about this sciencey stuff!" Micky had claimed a few days before, eyes lit up like a child on Christmas, and Davy couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped his lips, "You should really watch it with me babe. Maybe then you can appreciate all those science projects I start."

Davy stifled another laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder, "The ones you _start_ and never finish."

But back to the situation at hand. There was a problem, or, well, two problems, if Davy counted Micky being zoned out in a world of chemistry chemicals that he shouldn't ever be allowed near. "Micky!" Davy shouts, suddenly wishing that Mike was there to get his attention. Him and Peter were out getting groceries (Peter liked holding the grocery list and barking every time he found something they needed) and they were taking longer than usual.

Rolling his eyes, Davy stomps over to the television set and pushes the power button, earning a gasp and a whine from the taller man, "Hey! I was watching that!" Davy turns to him, immediately pointing at the front door and watching as Micky's eyes followed his extended arm, "Micky, we have a problem."

Groaning and seemingly not paying attention to the object on their doorstep, he looks back at Davy and pouts, "Did Babbit find out about us playing golf with his figurine collection? I made sure Peter dug a deep enough hole and hid the evidence well enough! _And _I potty trained h—"

"There's a kid on our front door step, Micky."

Micky eyes him curiously for a few seconds before turning his head to the door and back to Davy, "I don't know if those growth hormones I made for you have some side effects, but there is no one at our door. And even if there was a kid there, what's the big deal? Plenty of kids follow us around all the—"

Davy, suddenly frustrated, groans and raises his voice, "Micky, will you please _listen to me_? Stop running your mouth for a whole _two seconds _and I might be able to explain!" The taller man grows quiet, biting his lip, making Davy feel bad like he always does when he screams at him.

"I...stop giving me that face, you twit. I'm sorry, alright, but will you please let me tell you that I am not talking about a fully grown, running around and licking lollipops kid on our doorstep. I am talking about a _baby_. Maybe I should have been more specific. There is a _baby_ on our doorstep.

Micky blinked,

"At least it's not in the corner."

Davy snaps again, shouting Micky's name which causes the older male to flinch just slightly, mumbling an apology. "This is serious," Davy begins, grabbing Micky by the wrist and leading him to the front doorway,

"Oh come on, Davy, I hardly doubt that there's a—"

Micky blinks rapidly as Davy brings him to the door, remaining silent for a few moments until he finally speaks again,

"Davy there's a baby on our doorstep."

"Really, now? Is there really?"

Micky blinks down at the child, who, at this point, might as well be a 3-Headed Org with the way he was looking at it. When he finally comes to, he looks to the side of him and finds that Davy is staring right back at him with the same expression. "Well..." Micky began, eyes flickering between the little bundle of joy(?) and the midget standing next to him,

"What are we going to do?"

Davy glares at him for a few moments, then sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, "I don't know, doofus, that's why I called for you. I mean...someone obviously left...her? Him?" Davy sighs again, "Someone obviously left it here on purpose. There is no one coming back for this child any time soon, but...what are we supposed to do? Raise it? Micky, we can't even support _ourselves_. How would we even—"

"We _could_, though," Micky cuts in, earning an incredulous look from Davy and the taller male shakes his head, "No, no, hear me out for a second. You said it already; someone just left the kid here and we don't have many other options other than—" "We could take it to the local orphanage," Davy interrupts, eyes flickering down to the child, "Hey, do you think we should bring it inside?"

Micky bites his lip, nodding and then crouching down to take the child, who is bundled up in a blanket, in his arms, a small smile forming as he gets his first look at the baby's face. Davy stands on his tippy toes to see the child, mirroring Micky's smile when he sees it. The front door is shut and suddenly the two of them are sitting on the couch, Micky rocking the child slowly as it sleeps in his arms.

"Have you ever actually seen an orphanage? I wouldn't do that to a child..." The taller male finally responds in a hushed whisper, eyes glued on the baby. Davy scoots over to get a better look at the child, his side ending up pressed against Micky's, but neither of them seem to notice. "Yeah, but..." Davy starts, in the same hushed tone, looking up at Micky and noticing how close they were. He quickly moves over just a bit, biting his lip and waiting until Micky finally looked at him, "Mick, we can't...we can't just _keep _it. There's no documentation; no birth certificate, no information, no name...hell, Micky, we don't even know if it's a girl or a boy."

The white blanket that the baby was wrapped in didn't give much away and Micky paused for a moment, eventually shrugging just slightly in fear of waking the child, "I mean, the last part can be easily discovered. We could give it a name and we could figure out the documentation stuff later on."

"Are you insane?" Davy asks, whisper yelling at the older male, "Micky, we can't raise a child. Kids are expensive; you'd need a crib, formula, diapers, toys...money doesn't grow on trees. Besides, we're two guys in a band. And we're sure as hell not cut out to be parents."

Another silent pause before Micky whispers again, still calm, "Just...give it a week? We'll try it out for a week and if we can't handle it...we'll take it to the police or something. I don't know. But I can't just give up that easily, Davy. I know we're not exactly the typical American parents, but...it can't hurt to try, can it? Please? All I'm asking for is a week."

Davy chews on his lip, eyes flickering between Micky and the child, and sighs, dropping his head into his hands, "Fine," he caves, massaging his temples with his hands, "We'll give it a week. But that's _it_, Micky. Seven days."

* * *

"You _what_?"

Those are the first two words out of Mike's mouth after Davy explains the situation at hand. Micky thought it'd be better if the child, who they still didn't know the gender of and who was still napping, wasn't thrust into their other bandmate's faces right away in fear of them automatically saying no to everything. So they chose fingers and Davy lost ("Oh, but of course. It's always the short one that loses."), giving Micky the opportunity to stay with the child in his bedroom while Davy was forced to explain exactly what had happened to them earlier in the day.

Davy bites his lip, eyes flickering at the bedroom door and then back to Mike and Peter. Peter seemed indifferent to the situation but Mike seemed very, very, very different to the situation, loudly voicing his opinion, "You can't raise a child. There's no way on this God given earth that_you_ or _Micky _or _anyone _in this house could _raise _a _child." _Davy shushes him, pointing at the upstairs bedroom from where he was standing in the middle of the living room and then bringing his finger to his lips,

"Listen, Mike, I don't exactly like the idea of this either. But...you know how Micky is. He got attached to the little bugger the moment he saw it. I promised him a week, that's it, and if by the end of next Saturday we prove to be the worst parents on the entire planet, we'll take it to the police."

"It?" Mike asks, gaping at Davy, "You don't even know what the baby _is_?"

The shorter male shrugs innocently, "I won't let Micky until you agree with it. The last thing we need is for him to get even _more_ attached. Once he finds out the gender, he starts thinking of names...it would just be even worse than it is now."

Peter nudges Mike, who looks at him immediately, "What, Pete?" He asks and the blond looks like he's in deep thought for a moment before speaking, "I think you should let them. It's not like we have anything else to do around here. Besides, it could teach them responsibility. Like a guinea pig...or a chinchilla...or a kitty cat...or a python—"

"Alright, Peter, thank you. I get the point," The Texan interferes, groaning and standing up, causing Davy to look up at him as he walks towards him.

"I'll give you the week," Mike finally agrees, earning a small smile from Davy which the older male immediately squashes, "But a child is most definitely _not _like a pet. Children are hard work and I expect you both to act like responsible parents. This isn't a game, Davy, you're taking care of a little human being who will, hopefully, someday grow to be taller than you. Don't fuck it up."

Davy nods quickly, grinning and running up the spiral staircase, almost tripping at least twice because his pants were too long for his legs. He opens the door and Micky's head immediately shoots up with a hopeful look in his eyes.

All Davy does is nod, grin never leaving his face.

* * *

Micky and Davy stare at each other, expecting the other to finally cave. It'd been like this for what felt like hours now, the both of them being too stubborn to just get it over with.

"You do it," Davy finally says, eyes never leaving Micky.

"No, you," Micky counters childishly, causing the shorter male to groan and roll his eyes, pushing Micky's face away from him and focusing his attention on the baby, who was lying there, now awake, staring up at them curiously with big, blue eyes.

They had unraveled the baby from it's blanket a bit earlier, finding that the child had light brown hair and really didn't look much like either of them but regardless, it was adorable. However, then came the task of finding out exactly what they had on their hands, thus causing the two real babies in the room to initiate the staring contest.

"I swear, Micky, I should slap a diaper on _you_." Davy snapped, and rather than opening up the diaper he simply lifted the waistband of it, looking inside briefly and then placing it back down. He turns to Micky, reaching up and patting him on the shoulder.

"Well, congratulations, Mrs. Dolenz. It's a baby girl."

Micky glares at him, proceeding to flick him in the forehead and grinning as Davy winces. He picks up the baby girl, smile growing wider as she stares at him with the same curious look she'd had on before. "How old do you think she is?" Micky asks curiously, eyes moving to look at Davy, who now has his hand over his forehead. Davy glares, rubbing his forehead and using his other arm to shrug.

"Mm, dunno, a few weeks? Maybe a month? She doesn't look like a newborn, but she sure as hell can't be much older than a month or two...never mind all that right now, though. This baby needs a name." Davy sits down on Mike's bed as Micky sits on his own, and the two of them stare across at each other, Micky holding the baby and Davy fumbling with his fingers as the two of them start rattling off names.

"Well...what about Amy?" Micky asks curiously, to which Davy makes a disgusted face and shakes his head,

"God, no, I dated an Amy a few months ago. She reminded me of the worst things in life...Jane?"

"That's so plain," Micky replies, rocking the baby in his arms and he notices her starting to nod off again, "Katie? Or Kate, maybe?"

"I dated both a Kate _and _a Katie last month. Come on, Mick, don't you know who I've dated?"

Micky stifles a laugh, although trying to keep his voice low, "_No._ You have a new girlfriend every week; it's hard to keep track. If you're so keen on picking a name of someone you haven't dated, we'll be here all week."

"Shut up, I haven't dated that many people."

The taller male snorts.

"I said _shut up_. Hm...Jessica?"

Micky mocks his 'I said shut up' and sticks his tongue out, then rolls it back into his mouth and shakes his head, "_I _dated a Jessica a few months ago," and, in another mocking tone, "What, Davy, don't you know who I've dated?"

"Y'know," Davy begins, "I would throw something at you right now if it wasn't for her. And I'd laugh the hardest I ever have when you spazzed right off the bed."

"I do not _spaz_," Micky retorts, "I gracefully flail around..." He trails off, a thought popping into his head, before he grins wide and announces, "Hey...hey that's it!"

Davy shushes him, pointing at the child in Micky's arms and then looking at him with a confused expression, "Indoor voice, Micky, indoor voice. And what's it?"

"Grace. It's perfect."

"Listen, if she's anything like you, it most definitely _isn't_."

Micky rolls his eyes, "Oh, come on. You have to admit it's cute. We could call her Gracie as a nickname and, considering she's not actually our kid, I hardly doubt she could be as clumsy as me."

Davy pauses a few moments to think about it, looking down at his lap, before he chuckles softly and flickers his eyes back Micky.

"Alright. Grace it is."


	2. deux

Oh my god, let me apologize for never updating this. My summer was so much crazier than I could have imagined and I didn't have much time to even think about writing. Now that school has started again I have even less time, but I'm going to dedicate as much time on weekends as I can to writing this. I swear! Honestly had I not written out the whole story's concept, I would have been lost writing this after so long. And so I would like to thank myself for doing that. You rock, self. Anyways, enough rambling. Enjoy the read!

* * *

The rest of the first day had been pretty crazy, to say the least.

Micky and Davy had no choice but to make a trip to buy all the essentials for a baby; they estimated she had to be around a month old and used that estimate for almost everything they bought. What else could they do? It's not like kids were born with dog tags.

The duo spent the night trying to tend to all the baby's needs and managed to fix up a makeshift bassinet in the process. It was hardly luxurious, but Mike and Davy had agreed that if their care of Grace somehow managed to extend past the week cap, they would figure something else out. The bassinet was placed in Micky's room after another round of choosing fingers.

Grace didn't seem to do much; she blinked, slept, and cried. "You're exactly like Micky," Davy had teased, earning a slap on the shoulder from the older male. Overall, she seemed like a pretty well behaved baby and the child was fast asleep for the night by eight thirty. Or they had thought.

Perhaps this is why day two didn't go so well.

Micky was awoken at the startling hour of 2am by a piercing scream. At first, he'd thought Davy had tripped over the couch again, but this scream was much closer and much more high pitched than anything Davy could ever let out of his mouth. And then he remembered Grace.

He tried to silently climb out of bed, then decided that wouldn't matter much if the baby was crying that loud. Mike woke up before Micky even got over to the crib, groaning and almost yelling at the curly haired male.

"Dammit, Mick, shut that thing up!"

Micky wiped his eyes quickly and yawned, picking the baby up and rocking her in his arms, noticing that her screaming had died down to just crying.

At least that was some success.

After coming to the conclusion that she didn't have to be changed, he realized soon after that she probably had to be fed, carefully making his way down the stairs with baby in arms. He opened the fridge and took out one of the bottles they had already made (alright, _Davy_ had made) before sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs and putting the bottle to Grace's lips.

Silence.

Micky sighed, trying not to doze off as the light suddenly came on, which very easily scared the crap out of him until he realized who it was.

"Davy? ...What are you doing up?"

The shorter male stretches and then pads over to the kitchen table, sitting next to Micky as his eyes glance down at the baby, sleep lacing his voice, "Heard this little rascal screaming at the top of 'er lungs. Figured I should suffer through it with you."

Micky chuckles quietly, looking down at Grace, who'd already managed to suck down a decent portion of the bottle, "You didn't have to. It's not a big deal, Davy. I don't mind."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you don't. But I'm just as much responsible for her as you are and it may not seem like it, but I'm not about to let you do all the work."

A silent pause creeps up between the two of them, only faltering when Micky finally speaks in a lower voice than he'd had previously, "Do you think that this'll last? I mean...I mean after the week's up and all. Mike is already dead set against this and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet."

"I don't know, Mick," Davy shrugs, leaning back in his chair and yawning, "Mike's concerned for her wellbeing and if I'm honest...I am too. Now, don't get sour on me; that doesn't mean I'm against this because I'm not. I wouldn't have gotten up this late to come sit here with you if I was..."

Micky gazes over at him for a quick moment, turning back to Grace when he feels her stop drinking. He puts the bottle down on the table, gently holds her against his chest and begins patting her back as Davy watches on with a look of slight surprise,

"Where'd you learn how to do that?"

The curly haired man shrugged a bit, continuing to burp Grace, "Oldest sibling, y'know. You catch on after a while," He yawns, and after a few minutes Grace is already back asleep in Micky's arms. The two Monkees say goodnight and part ways, each going into their respective rooms and the rest of the night, thankfully, remains at peace.

The morning brought issues of more Grace crying and more Mike Nesmith complaining and Peter getting his hand stuck in the icebox for the third time this month. It all started after Peter woke up earlier than usual to get a snack, of course ignoring the rule that he couldn't be unsupervised in the kitchen. This, of course, led to him getting his hand stuck, which led to him screaming. This screaming led to Grace waking up and, of course, crying, which lead to Mike waking up and, of course, complaining.

All before 9am.

Davy and Micky, the former holding Grace in his arms, watched from the couch as Mike helped Peter to get his somehow stuck hand _un_stuck. The three of them never understood how he could get his hand stuck; then again, the three of them never understood many things that happened in their lives.

Mike, fuming from the events that had taken place that morning, got dressed and stormed out. Knowing the way that he was no one contested it, and Peter decided to spend the day down by the beach looking for old shoes in the sand. So, once again, Davy and Micky were left to be the responsible fathers that they were trying to imitate.

The two of them spent almost an hour arguing over which outfit Grace would wear:

"Oh don't be daft, Micky. That purple looks horrendous on her skin tone. I don't even know why I let you buy that thing."

"Shut up, Davy! At least I didn't pick out that ugly yellow!"

"It is not ugly! You wanna see ugly? Look in a mirror!"

"You first!"

After a large amount of time wasted on deciding between a horrendous purple and an ugly yellow, they decided on a blue one that they both liked (why this option hadn't struck them sooner no one knows). They dragged the makeshift bassinet down the stairs, placed Grace in it and spent a large amount of their day watching TV and doing nothing productive.

That didn't bother Micky; he was used to being lazy, but Davy couldn't take it. The younger male was twitchy and Micky could tell he was off. Every time Grace cried or even made a tiny noise, Davy was up to check on her, feed her, change her, stare at her. The whole thing got boring after a good hour of watching Davy squirm around as if he was about to explode out of his skin. So boring that after the hour had passed, Micky finally addressed the situation,

"You don't have to stay, y'know. You can go out. Do whatever. I don't care."

Davy stared at him for a few seconds, a mixed expression of 'God I've been waiting for you to say that forever' and 'But I'd feel really guilty if I left'. Micky rolled his eyes, "You talk with your face. I'm not your wife, man, you are not obligated to stay here. I'm not gonna waste a week of your life because of something I wanted to do."

"Are you sure—"

"Yes; it's really irritating to watch you fidget all over the place. You're taking the magic out of television watching."

Davy rolled his eyes, standing up as if he was going to leave but pausing and smirking at the older male, "You said you're not my wife. That means you admit to being the woman."

Micky threw a throw pillow at him almost reflexively, "Goodbye Davy."

Davy snorted, making his way to the door.

* * *

When he finally made his way back into the house, not exactly drunk but definitely not sober and already forgetting the girl he'd spent the majority of his night with, Davy was greeted with two things: Micky Dolenz and a headache.

Both could be compacted into one.

The bassinet had been moved, assumedly back upstairs in Mike and Micky's room, and Micky was still lying on the couch. Davy shrugged to himself; did Micky fall asleep down here? It didn't make much sense because the TV would've still been on and the screen was as dark as it was outside. The house was dead silent and Davy figured he'd be able to sneak to his room the way he always did after coming home at some ungodly hour. But, he also figured he might as well wake Micky up. Clearly he didn't mean to fall asleep down here and Davy knew how goddamn uncomfortable that sofa was.

He tiptoed over to the sofa, crouching down and poking at Micky's nose. The older male stirred a bit and Davy tried again, this time poking at his cheek. Micky groaned softly, peeking his eyes open and as soon as he saw who it was, they shot open.

Davy gave him a crooked grin, standing back up silently and beginning to make his way to his and Peter's room before Micky's voice stopped him in his tracks, "I said you could go out, not stay out for twelve fucking hours and come back drunk."

Davy turned around, giving Micky a confused look, "What are you, my mother? And I'm not drunk...I just had a few drinks. God. Why are you even down here?"

"I was waiting for _you_!" Hearing the tone of his voice, Micky stands up and takes his voice down a notch, almost whispering through the darkness, "I figured you'd go out for a few hours, I dunno, go hang out with some girls for the afternoon. And then I thought you would come back. When Mike came back before you did, I knew there was an issue. I told you I didn't mind you going out because I thought you'd be back to help me out tonight. I was wrong in thinking that, apparently."

The younger male has some issues taking all this information in, unable to wrap his head around it. Instead of putting his brain through more torture than the current headache ripping through his skull, he just gets angry instead,

"You're not the boss of me, alright? I'm old enough to make my own damn decisions. I can do whatever I want and I sure as hell don't need you of all people trying to tell me what I can and cannot do. I don't even want to be involved in this whole thing with Grace! You dragged me into it!"

Micky remains silent for a few moments, staring at Davy who couldn't comprehend the severity of what he'd just said for the life of him, "Fine then," the curly haired man finally speaks, "I'll take care of her by myself. Who the fuck needs you anyway?"

He brushes past Davy, quickly going upstairs and out of view of the younger male. Thinking that he'd solved his problem for the night, Davy shrugs to himself, finally making his way into his own room.


End file.
